I’m quite aware that I’ve never re-read the letters you’ve written, but I’ve kept them. All of them. Dated as long ago as 1994 and possibly further back, they’ve been tucked quietly away in keepsake boxes like treasures from my childhood. I’ve often wondered whether anyone else has clung to the precious cargo and snail mail that I once sent in opposite directions. I wonder if they’ve been carefully looked after or simply discarded into the waste bin. My good sense and feelings are suspicious of the later. In case you’re curious, I’ve kept every card as well. Notes exchanged during long school days (most likely in algebra or while passing in the hall) were saved too.

Since the letters began to slow and altogether cease at the height of electronic mail and Internet, I’ve pondered what to do with this collection of mine. Why do I fancy these letters anyway? I’ve already confessed that I haven’t re-read them. Surely I would never allow them to stay boxed up in a corner collecting dust. No. Never.

I’ll need to discard them. Not later, but almost suddenly. Immediately!

I can’t go on keeping them. They’ve no practical purpose in my present life. Yes, I love to drift back down memory lane where as a teenage girl I loved collecting them and reading them without haste. Those days are gone. Now you send me email or tweets which I don’t necessarily rush to open or read. Maybe I’ll send my electronic response in return, but it all depends if I feel like it. (You know, information overload.) Looking at your letters today I still love the ones where you glued confetti to the yellow wide-ruled paper or the colorful Hello Kitty and Lisa Frank stationary where you scribbled and managed decent penmanship at best. Sometimes the paper stock was simple, but the cursive used to relay your crushes and everyday happenings, were to be marveled. These are the things I miss most when opening my physical mailbox.

So, what I’ve decided is in my great scheme to compact, decrease and preserve space and memory keepsakes, I will archive your letters, as if they are works greater than any others ever created. I will scan them in one-by-one, front-and-back with envelope and postage stamp until they are all digital images of moments which feel long gone. From there I will proceed in making a book with all your letters. This book won’t be for sale and it won’t be on display for others to read. With it I may also leave a present day response or notes on carefully placed blank address labels. Perhaps commentary on penmanship and selection of stationary will be included with a prolog as to how much I prefer snail mail to today’s impersonal electronic musings, rants or raves.

There are a lot of letters in these boxes from many of you. Some of you I cannot remember how we met. Maybe this project will trigger my memory. However it ends, I will keep your letters. Not the physical ones, but something like it.